


Special Snowflakes

by Carmilla DeWinter (miladys_revenge)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Coming Out, Internalized Acephobia, Internalized Arophobia, Other, Queerplatonic Relationships, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-13 05:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miladys_revenge/pseuds/Carmilla%20DeWinter
Summary: Once upon a time, when people assumed he and Bucky were a couple, it ended in black eyes and broken noses. Times have changed, gay people now get their own flags, parades and even marriage. But the assumption still doesn't, for the life of him, make sense.Sam just shrugs. “Don't look at me like that, man. I was kinda certain you two would announce your engagement as soon as you'd gotten over your hang-ups.”But - “We like women.”Sorta.





	1. Not a unicorn

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of an introspective piece. Goes off-canon after CA:TWS, because “Civil War” makes little sense to me logistics-wise. (You do not only steal the blue stuff, you also steal the formula to make more blue stuff. Obviously.) Anyway, besides that, I reject their “no homo” (AKA vague queer baiting) and substitute my own, more GSRM-friendly variety. Otherwise known as: I needed more ace and aro characters. This thing is therefore dedicated to everyone else who's had to field the ace and/or aro bingo questions.  
> Also, first time poster to AO3, all my other fic is still hosted at ff.net. Let's see how my html skills hold up.

It's Tony who alerts Steve that Bucky's entered the room in his usual stealthy way, because both Steve and Sam have their backs to the door, and Natasha prefers to exercise her poker face.

„Linkin Park. Really, Sargesicle? You're doing hipster wrong if you're wearing something unironically.“

Given that Bucky holed up in his room for a week after Chester Bennington's death, he would never wear anything with a Linkin Park logo ironically. Anyway, Steve turns in his seat to confirm.

With the man bun, eyeliner behind non-prescription glasses, black skinny jeans, and a matching leather jacket over the aforementioned too large t-shirt, Steve will gladly sign a statement that Bucky is gorgeous. The eyeliner brings out the sparkle in his eyes. How many people who meet him like that will be able to read the shadows there as those caused by too many ghosts?

This here is visible proof that Bucky's arrived in the 21st century, and so Steve longs to paint him. (Only without the silicone skin covering the arm.)

“What you got against Linkin Park, Tony?”, asks Sam, loyal friend that he is, even though he doesn't like Linkin Park much, either.

“Aren't they a real downer? I mean”, an expressive hand gesture, “you're still here.”

“Not for lack of trying.” Bucky approaches to place his hands on Steve's shoulders, squeezing a little. Obviously, they both remember that conversation, so Steve pats Bucky's right hand to remind him that they both made it anyway.

“At least their lyrics aren't the rhyming equivalent of a dick swinging contest”, Buck adds.

There are very few people on God's green earth who can turn Tony momentarily speechless. Luckily, Steve's best friend is one of them.

“Going out dancing?” Nat asks, deadpan. Maybe she's just that good and knows when a change of topic is sorely needed. Maybe she is miffed Bucky didn't ask her to tag along, or whatever. She never speaks about their shared history, Bucky doesn't either, and keeps pretending he doesn't remember.

“You got it. Anyhow, punk.” Buck drapes himself over Steve's back, chin on his left shoulder, so he catches a whiff of the aftershave they share. “You sure you don't want to come with?”

“Dead sure.” Steve points at the wine left in his glass. They've actually had a decent conversation over Merlot and bread sticks until Bucky interrupted. “Besides, you know my talent for dancing. I'd only cramp your style.”

“We could maybe do something more sedate next week,” Nat says. “Finally find a date for you.”

Would she'd return to her less meddling self from a year ago, when Bucky wasn't well and Peggy even worse. But now that Buck's ready to venture out into the world by himself and Peg has been buried for six months, now it's once again open season.

Also, Tony is watching him with a look that means he's going to add inappropriate commentary soon. Honestly, the only woman Steve would be willing to date is sitting right there facing him, but there's a number of issues besides the fact that she's never ogled him. Which is part of what makes her interesting as girlfriend material.

“I don't need a matchmaker.”

Predictably, Bucky digs his chin a little deeper into Steve's shoulder, just enough to make it uncomfortable. “If you say so. Anyhow. Wish me luck?”

“Always. Just -- leave the stupid here, will ya?”

“Done and done. I even have condoms, Ma.”

Must he be this crass, really?

“See ya, guys.” Bucky nuzzles Steve's hair for a heartbeat, then waltzes off to the elevator.

There's a moment of silence even after he's out of hearing range, so Steve raises his eyebrows. Despite the fact that his face is so hot you can probably see the blush from Mars.

Tony waves a bread stick in an accusing manner. “This is more tragic than the ending of Casablanca. You can't let this man go like that, Cap! You and him are the Romance of the Ages.”

“It would explain so much, wouldn't it,” Natasha adds.

Huh. Steve blinks and turns to Sam for help, because this is new and old both. Once upon a time, when people assumed he and Bucky were a couple, it ended in black eyes and broken noses. Times have changed, gay people now get their own flags, parades and even marriage. But the assumption still doesn't, for the life of him, make sense.

Sam just shrugs. “Don't look at me like that, man. I was kinda certain you two would announce your engagement as soon as you'd gotten over your hang-ups.”

But - “We like women.”

Sorta.

“You can like both,” Sam says.

“Or be pansexual, I know. I actually did read the sensitivity training material.” It didn't help much with Steve's particular issue, but even Nat's bugging hasn't made him seek out more information. After all, there might be a cure for it, and Steve's pretty certain he doesn't want to be cured. If the serum didn't fix it, then he's supposed to be this way, so he doesn't want to have to fend off questions why he keeps clinging to his abnormality so much. Even if it would be nice to be able to explain it.

“I don't think I'll ever get over hearing you utter the word 'sex'.” Tony mimes a fainting spell.

Steve rolls his eyes, because really. He is not some delicate flower, and he's not a virgin. Only he finds sex dreadfully tedious, which is not what you should expect from a guy in his twenties. Or, if popular opinion is considered, from any guy over the age of thirteen.

“Look,” Sam interrupts his thoughts. “You two are constantly in each others' space. Both of you light up like a Christmas tree when the other enters the room. He damn near kissed you just now.” Before, that's not mentioned, he went off to find a girl to fuck. “It's easy to conclude you're in a romantic relationship.”

“It isn't. There's absolutely no sexual tension,” Nat objects.

“Romance doesn't require sex,” Sam shoots back.

It doesn't? Anyhow, it's still off the mark. “Yes, thank you. Anyhow. Bucky doesn't do romance.”

“He's the dreamiest Howling Commando to ever dream,” Tony points out. “Every girl in every history class I ever took was half in love with his photograph.”

Steve can't help himself, he snorts. Same old song and dance routine with fancier words, and, hopefully, less judgment. “He -- his parents were hounding him to settle down and produce grandchildren. Instead, he was living with me and had a new girl to date every other weekend. He doesn't do romance.”

“Huh,” Sam offers. “Unusual.”

“I know, thanks.” Steve and Buck are odd but matching bookends, some asymmetric sculpture of a functioning heterosexual male split in the middle. Once, a lifetime ago, after yet another rant from Ma Barnes, they talked about it. They'd been able to afford some whiskey, and once they were thoroughly drunk, they tried to kiss on the mouth, just to see whether they were secretly queer for each other but somehow didn't realize. It didn't feel right.

Only, given the chance, Steve might kiss Bucky -- on the forehead, on his shoulders, everywhere that signified affection that wasn't romantic.

“He might need a Pepper to reform him”, Tony interrupts his ruminations.

Is it too much to reveal, but -- how often has Steve been told, and told himself, and told others, that it was all just a question of finding the right partner. And so did Bucky. “He's given up looking for the time being, I think.” As has Steve himself. It is exhausting to always be on the lookout for this one mythical person, hoping that this is the one who will suddenly change everything. Not to mention the blow to your self esteem when nothing happens. Again and again and again.

There were times when Steve thought that being homosexual would have been easier than living in this limbo, where he likes girls but not enough to happily get it on with them.

Anyway. They've both banned questions about their relationship status from press conferences and interviews. There's already enough people letting them know they're defective, they don't have to add to that pile more than necessary.

“There's gotta be a word for not doing romance,” Sam says.

Hmm.

Beside him, Nat shifts but betrays no emotion again, which is a sure-fire way to tell that she is highly interested in this information. She, too, has banned questions about her relationship status, although Steve is almost certain she and Clint have some kind of arrangement.

“One of the science drones has ze-pronouns,” Tony adds in a sudden bout of seriousness.

Yeah, yeah. But Steve needs to think about this in peace. “I'm going to use Google like a good little digital native. Later. Now. Where were we?”

And so they return to discussing schools and the next benefit Tony is planning on behalf of STEM education.

  
  


When the bottle is empty, Steve calls it an early night. After puttering around his and Bucky's shared floor for a bit, he mans up, plops down on the couch, and uses his tablet to search for relationships without romance or sex.

It turns out that there is such a thing as asexuality. Or being aromantic.

In hindsight, the terms seem like no-brainers, but. There's people talking about it. A lot of people. There's a forum with more than eighty thousand users out there, all discussing how they don't want sex or can't seem to relate to it in a way that so called normal people understand.

The sheer number of terms they've invented to describe what they feel makes Steve's head spin. Also, it's allowed to be like this. It's allowed to want to grow old with your buddy, it's allowed to want to cuddle and kiss people without it ever ending in an orgasm, it's perfectly possible to share a bed without ever having sex. There is such a thing as being queerplatonic partners, and it's allowed to want this and make it up as you go.

There are thousands of others out there who want these things, too.

It's not a sickness, there is no cure, and people revel in the fact. They even have a pride flag, though black, gray, white and purple aren't exactly Steve's favorite colors.

Asexual people appear in documentaries and take part in pride parades. Many seem highly interested in research, maybe because there is so very little of it. The world is suddenly so much bigger than it was an hour ago. Something inside of him is bubbling like too much soda, and he can't for his life go to bed just now.

So Steve reads some more on the forum. For a few minutes he stares at some leaflet's PDF and realizes that this is where therapy went wrong for him -- even the non-Hydra-counselors meant to get him back into the dating game, and Steve never corrected their assumptions, too afraid of being back under the microscope, of having someone prod him to see why the serum didn't fix his lack of sexual attraction. From there, he meanders to the _Asexual Agenda_ blog, and binges on its backlog until the elevator doors hiss open and Bucky enters the living room, with his hair a mess and a smudge of pink lipstick on his shirt collar. He does look quite debauched, though his shoulders are slumping like back in the day when a date stood him up.

“Uh.” Bucky blushes and tries to pat his hair into some semblance of order. “Morning?”

It's 2:14. Wow. In four hours and forty six minutes Steve will have to meet Sam for their usual run.

“Hi.” To make Buck less uncomfortable, Steve smiles and beckons him over. “I found something interesting on the internet.” And, “There's a word. For what you are.” He can't help the genuine grin.

Bucky just blinks, as if that's too much to process \-- but that's unfair, isn't it? Steve's already had nearly five hours to get used to the idea that he's asexual. Ace. And he's still giddy when he allows himself to think it.

“Shower first,” Bucky finally says.

Contrary to his habit of using the hot water supply to its fullest, he's out in five minutes, smelling of body wash and conditioner, water dripping from his hair. He takes a seat next to Steve, carefully not touching him, as if whatever he did with whomever he met is some sort of contaminant even after washing up.

Or as if he's afraid Steve will label him a freak, after all.

So Steve closes the distance, drapes his left arm over Bucky's shoulder, and hands him the tablet, where the browser's opened on an aromanticism introduction. “Read.”

Bucky does.

By the flickering of his gaze, Steve can tell he reads it three times before he looks back up.

“This ain't a hoax.” From the shadows around his eyes, it seems like Buck is begging him to make it real.

Steve opens the tab with the _A is for ..._ list by some gay and lesbian organization. “It's not.”

For a few heartbeats, Bucky stares at him, then he sags against Steve and hides his face in his shoulder.

Right. Not all of Bucky's nights out go according to plan.

“What happened?”

A shrug. “Wanted me to stay for breakfast, was maybe angling for a date. I'd told her I wouldn't, before we even left the club, but she didn't stop pushing.” Another shrug. “Called me any number of names. Woke up some neighbors. I walked home after that.”

At least, no one's ever accused Steve of being heartless, immature or irresponsible. Which is what Buck's parents called him, as did the girls who were absolutely certain that they were the ones who would finally tie Bucky Barnes down, only to be disappointed.

“So... is this,” Steve gestures towards the tablet, “helpful? I mean-” Saying it out loud is not as easy as it seems. “I do fit the description for asexuality, you know. It's a bit of a relief.”

“Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Sure, jerk. Wanna share my bed?”

Bucky grunts in a way that suggests this is a stupid question. The answer has been yes for a year now. They both sleep better with the other one in the room.

  
  


After too little sleep, Steve awakens to the alarm and Bucky keeping carefully to himself as he's wont to do these days. The nights back in Brooklyn, wrapped around each other to stay warm, seem more than lifetime ago. Only the grumbling about early birds hasn't changed.

“I take it that you're not going to run with us this fine morning.”

Obviously Bucky's not awake enough to come up with a response more creative than the one-fingered salute. Which is about what Steve expected for a Saturday.

He successfully fights the urge to reply with “I love you, too.” Instead he leans into Bucky's space and kisses him on the temple before he rises to get dressed.

He can feel Buck's stare trying to drill a hole into his head until he leaves the room.

Too much too soon?

Whatever. There's a spring in his step he can't help, and of course Sam notices.

“So,” he prompts, when he enters the elevator two levels lower.

“There are words.”

“Words, as in plural?”

“Yeah.” Steve stares straight ahead at his and Sam's reflection. So help him God, he doesn't really want to talk about this, not even with Sam. Not when it's so new. Not when he doesn't dare to predict whether Buck will actually refer to himself as aromantic.

Eventually, Sam sighs. “Sorry.”

Steve raises his brows.

“It's -- I forgot this is a coming out for you. I've been told it can be a daunting task.”

If it were anyone but Sam, Steve would accuse them of reverse psychology. Captain America afraid of sharing one measly epiphany about himself? Maybe. “I just -- I need to think about this for a while longer.”

Sam hums and leaves him alone.

During the run, things that once were part of the scenery demand his attention. Rainbow pride flags in some store windows. A person of indeterminate gender with a flannel shirt of black, gray, white and purple tartan. Someone with a big fat Ace-of-Spades on their tote. How sex and couple relationships are everywhere, from the newsstands to the advertising.

Also, people in this century -- he's had to get used to the blatant staring. Many women are all but slavering over him like he's dessert. They look at him with their sexual assumptions, that he will be flattered by their stares and will stare back in kind, just like any other day, but today it doesn't make his skin crawl so much anymore. People will believe what they want about him, but he doesn't have to act accordingly. If they're disappointed, it's their problem. There's a good reason to his refusal to play the attraction game.

Bucky, though, must be feeling even more like an alien than he did back then, when he was probably still hoping some girl would find the magic switch to turn him into a dutiful husband to anyone other than Steve.

Somewhere on the internet, people discuss romance as an ersatz religion or a way for capitalism to exploit people. They speculate that some people might be happier if they didn't worship at the altar of the romantic couple relationship so much.

Why exactly have neither Steve nor Bucky never caved in to the expectations?

Only when they grab their usual coffee and donuts on their way back, Sam remarks, “You look like the world is a different place today.”

“It's not. But -- I keep seeing things I've never noticed before.”

“Hmm.” Sam nods as if he knows what that means.

Steve raises an eyebrow.

“One of my cousins is a fatshionista -- she's fighting the prejudice against fat people by posting photos of her stylish outfits on her blog. So of course I'd known that people made fat jokes and girls were always watching their weight, but she made me realize how ubiquitous it was. And what it does to people, women especially. Always feeling defective.”

Steve hums because it's interesting, and he will read up on this as soon as he's figured himself out.

  
  


Buck has holed up in bed with the tablet, but he is staring off into space when Steve enters. It's an eerie reminder of the time when Bucky had first come in, when he'd dissociate at least once a day.

“Hey.”

Bucky blinks.

“I'm just gonna shower before we talk.”

A nod. Progress! Steve smiles, grabs fresh clothes, and hurries off to the bathroom.

On the way back, he detours to the kitchen for coffee and some of the donuts from earlier. (Steve tends to buy a dozen per day, for snacks, because of super soldier metabolisms.)

Buck accepting the coffee and munching a fatty delicacy with chocolate glazing is another success, so Steve plops down next to him and waits until they've demolished half the stash to poke his best friend. “So. I wager you've read some more on -- the subject.”

He can't say it yet. Aromanticism. Asexuality, he repeats inside his head. You now belong to a group with a somewhat boring flag and are hereby allowed to make cake jokes.

According to that, Bucky narrows his eyes a little. “You kissed me.”

“Uh. I still harbor no intention or desire to kiss you on the mouth.”

“Good.”

Shit, this is hard. Steve rubs the back of his head, which makes Bucky glower at him. Obviously, he's not getting away with being cute.

“What do you want, then?”

And put right on the spot by the best impression of Ma Barnes' glare and a seemingly innocent question. Running circles around Sam this morning didn't make Steve sweat as much as this does. “Um. There's this thing called being platonic life partners?” (He can't call anything he does _queer_ yet, not after all those back alley scuffles.)

But even without the word, Bucky's back to blinking and Steve wants to deck himself for overwhelming him.

“It's,” Steve continues. Might as well wade in neck-deep and hope there aren't piranhas. He grabs a fistful of sheets that won't help if this is where Bucky lets him drown. “What we already had -- have, isn't it? Sharing a bed, living together. Just, uh, in an official capacity. As a permanent arrangement. No more pretending that we're waiting for magical healing boobs to turn us normal.”

“Huh,” Buck offers.

It's not a refusal. Steve makes himself breathe.

Ever so carefully, metal fingers touch his where he's still twisting the sheets. Eventually, he lets go to hold Bucky's hand. The armor warms under Steve's touch.

Some time later, Buck lifts his gaze from their intertwined fingers, as if to ask, “like this?”

But he says, “It's...”

“Odd, yeah, I know.” Steve can't help the self-deprecating laugh that bubbles up his throat. “Here I am of all people, thinking that it isn't done.”

“Punk.”

“Jerk.” That's reflex. “We would be allowed to, now. People will assume we're... having sex, whatever we actually say about our relationship. Probably even if I come out as ace on Oprah.”

“Hmm.”

“We'd be making it up. What's allowed, I mean. I'd like to hug you a lot more, and where others can see, too.”

Buck squeezes his fingers.

“And hold hands, sure.”

Another agreeable hum.

“So. Are we -- can we be a thing?”

Bucky lifts Steve's hand, seems to make a last second decision not to kiss it but to hold onto it with both of his, cradling it in one part smooth warm metal, the other in slightly sweaty gun callouses. Thank God that Buck's as nervous as he is.

“Til the end of the line. I said that, didn't I?”

While Steve's insides turn into mushy goo, he smiles. “I doubt you considered public displays of affection when saying it.”

“I didn't.”

“I love you,” Steve blurts out, much too early. But while Bucky does not respond, he does scoot a little closer and leans into him when he lifts his arm.

There's a tiny smile crinkling the skin around his eyes and Steve can't stop watching, because his platonic life partner is beautiful, inside and out.


	2. Not a robot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know: Bucky is a soldier and has a slight penchant toward four-letter-words.

“Ma won't ask outright, you know. But - you're not ever gonna marry, are you? You already got Steve for a wife.”

It had started a row, he and Becca shouting at each other the night before he moved out, because Bucky wasn't a queer, and she wouldn't believe him. Until their Ma threatened to slap some sense into them. God only knows what she thought on the subject.

Somewhere, Becca is laughing at him from beyond the grave, because he's just essentially proven her right. He is, in fact, semi-queer for Stevie Rogers. Still, he burrows deeper into Steve's hug.

It's - they are official now. He's just admitted that “til the end of the line” was, in fact, a very short version of marriage vows. Just without the sex. Because he might've ended up permanently with a woman he had sex with, if it weren't for Steve, might have promised to have and to hold and meant it. But he doesn't for his life know how having regular sex with someone translates to them being the most important person in your life. So there's something extra - some star-struck look, some stomach-fluttering at the thought of a love letter or dancing to _their song_ , some _I have to think about you all the time_ , some _I haven't been hungry since I met you_ , some belief that this is the one and only to make him happy - things he can't do. Things that were professed to him, resting on his shoulders like an invisible weight, because he could never mean it back. Love he can do, falling and being in love is forever outside his grasp. _Not a romantic bone in your body_ , Steve would sometimes say when some new film made Bucky roll his eyes, never quite able to empathize. The drama of love triangles has forever eluded him.

So some girls looked at him and he couldn't look back the way they expected, and so they assumed he was just using them. After the second slap he'd earned himself that way, he always made sure to explain there would be probably no second date before she did things she might regret in the morning.

Speaking of which, he's a putz. It's a tad late to remember about sex after agreeing to be Steve's platonic life partner. Forcing himself to breathe, he gears up for the question, hoping that he won't have to spell it out just to be refused.

“Am I still allowed to go dancing?” he mumbles into Steve's shoulder.

Steve's thumb halts in the little circles he's been rubbing into Bucky's biceps. “Obviously,” the best man alive says. “I won't make you be celibate.”

Oh. Bucky sags in relief. Because he would have tried, if Steve asked. Now there's a grin tugging at his mouth.

Before he can gloat too much, Steve clears his throat. “It's probably too complicated to just ask Natasha for help?”

And there's the little shit Bucky knows and loves. He elbows him without any real force.

  
  


After a while, Steve shifts. “We should maybe get some actual breakfast.”

“Not yet.” It's nice and warm in Steve's - their - bed, a cozy little bubble of not having to explain this.

“Okay.”

Huh. It's not like Steve to forgo eggs and carbohydrates. “You really want to come out on Oprah?”

“Not yet.” A beat of silence, wherein Steve takes up rubbing circles again. “We'd have to come out to the team first.” Steve buries his nose in Bucky's hair. “Christ. We'll have to warn PR before we go out on anything resembling a date.”

Shit, fuck. Everyone will have an opinion. Everyone will know he's had something wrong with him since birth. Steve hasn't figured it out, and Bucky certainly hasn't told the shrinks that maybe this is what Zola saw and why he was picked, because he's lacking some basic human feelings and was half a robot from the get go. If he's open about it, someone will make the connection. Sure, his regular therapist, Soraya, he trusts her to keep mum, but he does get evaluated regularly by outsiders from new SHIELD in order to earn privileges like finally making it onto the Avengers team. Someone's going to want to poke at him for it. They'll ask endless questions and put him into a chair, try to measure his brain waves. Already the steel restraints are putting pressure on him, he can't breathe anymore.

“Buck?”

Someone's touching his fingers. Thumb to index, middle, ring, pinky, stretch. One, two, three, four, pause. “C'mon. Buck. Love. Breathe with me.”

And so Bucky does the grounding exercise and the black spots disappear. “Sorry.”

“It's okay. D'you wanna talk about it?”

Bucky shakes his head. No. However much talking does help, his shrinks are the kind of people who would want to dissect his mind about being -- aromantic. Anyone would. Just because it's got a name and colors now don't mean it's accepted. “What if the brainwashing worked so well because I can't love.”

“You-” The hug turns crushing. “You're the most caring person I know. Buck. Look at me?”

Bucky does.

Steve's frowning as if Bucky's broken his heart, then smiles through it. “What makes you think you can't love?”

Oh, he does, just, “Not properly.” He looks at the wall, because that is easier to take than all the emotion on Steve's face. This way, he might not realize what Bucky is lacking.

“And we've cared about what's proper since when? Look. Just because you never are in love doesn't mean you don't care. You just don't do the song-and-dance routine that's commonly accepted as courting.”

Bucky nods. Only he has to be short some morals and empathy, right? If everyone besides Steve is telling him so. _Selfish douchebag_ , the words from last night echo in his ear.

Suddenly, he's exhausted and can't keep his eyes open anymore.

“Why don't you sleep it off? We can stay in today, read up some more, and tomorrow, we can maybe talk to Sam? Take a walk instead of running.”

Hmm. Bucky's dimly aware that Steve picks up the tablet while he curls up next to him. Warm fingers rub over his scalp and run through his hair. He's safe for now, so he sleeps.

  
  


They do, in fact, spend their time reading and beg off movie night on account of Bucky having a bad day.

It's not even that far off. On the one hand, Steve belongs to him now in a way he never did before. He can ask to cuddle whenever, even without words, and Steve lights up with a thousand watt smile when he does. It's like the sun rising just for him. The touches fill a deep seated craving Bucky wasn't even aware he had. Or maybe he didn't allow himself to feel it too much, instead going out more often than really necessary to seek some fleeting comfort. Now, he can be sure that Steve has really forgiven him.

On the other hand, he's very aware that they exist in a bubble right now, and that he wouldn't rest with his head on Steve's thigh where anyone could see. It makes leaving the place hard, so when dinnertime rolls around, Steve's the one who goes to find ingredients for chicken noodle soup and cooks. Bucky allows himself to bask in the smell until the recurring memory of Becca's long ago comment on Steve being his wife ruins the moment. So he trudges into the kitchen, where they watch the soup boil and Steve again cuddles him without having to be asked.

While he sets the table, he overhears the short call Steve has with Sam to alert him to the change of plans for Sunday morning. Sam seems okay with the idea, sounds actually quite pleased.

  
  


Still, it seems an impossible step to take on Sunday at nine, when the elevator doors slide open and -

What if Sam hates them now? What if he tells on Bucky to the shrinks?

Steve rests a hand on the small of Bucky's back.

“You don't have to come.”

God, Barnes, get your shit together. Bucky grabs the piece of snowflake obsidian from the bowl where they also keep the bikes' keys, and shoves it into his hoodie's front pocket. Grounding. An anchor, just in case his mind goes worst case scenario on him again.

Steve, that sap, offers a proud smile when Bucky pushes past him into the elevator.

They meet Sam in the lobby, get some coffee and bagels from a shop on the tower's ground floor, and amble off into the comparatively quiet morning. After three dozen steps, Bucky accepts that he obviously looks like the nervous wreck he is and is going to be flanked today, when usually he and Steve try to protect Sam.

It also turns out that there's no good way to begin this conversation - both he and Steve are obviously at a loss. Maybe Steve isn't quite as sure about Sam's reaction as he pretends.

“You've promised me words, my man,” Sam pokes after a while. They've reached Central Park by now.

Bucky's metal fingers click against the tumble stone, fill the silence a little. With a look, Steve shows that he heard and follows with a smile. Then, he squares his shoulders. Gearing up for rejection, just like Bucky did yesterday.

“There's a good many words,” Steve finally offers. “But, yeah. I'd like you to introduce you to my platonic life partner.”

That's probably Bucky's cue to do a silly little wave, so he does, finger waggle and all. “Hi.”

“Right.” Sam beams. “Hi, Steve's platonic life partner. You do know you've landed a stubborn shit with too little regard for his own safety?”

“Yes,” Bucky drawls. “Given that this has been going on since 1938.”

Another grin. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

… He must be hallucinating.

“Buck?”

So he's stopped walking for a bit. Because this - he's expected a flurry of questions, of doubt, but Sam says, _thank you for telling me_. Like it's a privilege he's earned.

Bucky squeezes the stone in his pocket and hurries to catch up.

“We obviously didn't have a name for it back then,” Steve says, once they're walking again. “There's so many words now. It's...”, he offers a helpless gesture, “I'm actually kinda grateful.”

Bucky nods along, because, yeah.

Sam just hums, waiting them out. Not that Bucky is going to say much today. By glancing at his partner - his partner! - he tries to convey as much, if he hasn't guessed.

Anyhow, Steve knows him too well. Another quick smile, then he turns back to the topic at hand. “I'm ace. Asexual.”

“Cool.”

Now, it's Steve's turn to blink.

“I did some googling myself after our talk on Friday,” Sam says. “Anyhow. Seems like you're pretty okay with this?”

“More than okay.” Steve grins. He does not talk about how relieved he is, because it's obvious from the way he carries himself.

“Good. Fox News will hate you for not conforming to the virile male stereotype, too.”

This is one of the things that make him doubt that the future is as great as he was lead to believe. That it was a good thing, a badge of honor, even, having a major news channel like Fox News hate on you. Most of the others make a kind of sport of it.

“A good many people will hate me,” Steve says.

“They'll hate me more,” Bucky interjects before he can stop himself.

Sam raises his brows while Steve makes a small noise of protest.

“I'm the aro half of this ace/aro pair,” Bucky adds. “There's people who respect him because he's concentrating on his work instead'a fooling around. But I'm the one who was too messed up to love the gals he dated even before he was brainwashed.”

They've all stopped walking now.

“Uh.” Sam looks at a loss for words while in the background, Steve again murmurs his protestations.

“Shut your pie hole, Stevie. It's what they will see, ain't it. 's no pride flag gonna help with that.”

“You wouldn't have to say anything about how you two work,” Sam finally offers.

“And have them assume I'm cheating on Captain America. Right.”

“Yeah, that would go over like a lead balloon, you're right.” Sam gnaws on his lower lip for a good long while wearing his 'I'm really not your therapist and you assholes are way above my paygrade anyway' face. “Can we agree that you were trying to conform to a standard that just didn't work for you?”

This makes a terrifying amount of sense. “Maybe.”

“Can we also agree that you've internalized this stigma - that is, how you're thinking you're messed up - because you proved unable to conform to societal standards and everyone let you know their displeasure?”

Huh. Click, click, click go his metal fingers on the snowflake obsidian.

“It just means your Ma, Becca and all those women read you the riot act often enough that you started to believe all those things they said about you,” Steve expands. “Not to mention that there's a romance plot in almost every movie.”

This is making even more sense. But - it's a lot. Likely he'll have to turn his entire mind inside out, which he's frankly done enough by now not to want to hurry. “I need to think about this.”

“You do that, man. Now. Therapy time's over. Steve, you owe me some ice cream.”

So they all get ice cream. The vendor even has some fruit flavors that aren't made with dairy, so yay for Bucky and his freezer-burnt intestines.

They find a bench and people-watch for a while: families on a morning stroll, wide-eyed tourists, joggers, people walking their dogs. Three strapping young lads like them do get ogled in turn, even though they apparently aren't recognized thanks to the sunglasses and hats. Or maybe New Yorkers are just too cool to squeal about three Avengers eating ice cream, but not cool enough not to admire their physiques. And they are mighty fine physiques, given all the work the three of them put in to stay in fighting shape.

Two twenty-something girls slow their second run past them to award Steve with highly suggestive looks, and then stop in his sight to, ahem, stretch, where Steve can't help but look between their boobs to their bellybuttons. When Bucky's partner blushes and starts to vibrate with a need to be anywhere but here, he remembers that Steve, unlike him, doesn't like to be ogled and has no idea how to deal even with mild flirtation, never mind this kind of come-hither. Not like he's some object put on display. Things like this happen less now he's got help shopping for looser T-shirts, but it is admittedly hard to hide that enviable V-shape.

Bucky prods his memories in the hope he wasn't like that with girls when he was younger, but no such luck. He probably was acting like a douchebag sometimes, despite Ma's and Becca's and Steve's best efforts. Anyway, putting an arm around Steve to protect him from these kinds of advances seems like an imperative. Not to do so feels like a small crime. Somewhere angels weep because his poor partner is flustered now. His partner, whom he is allowed to touch at all times - it's sinking in, finally, what he's agreed to, and it's an altogether good thing. But not for public consumption yet.

So, instead of a calming arm around Steve's shoulders, he lowers the sunglasses and glares daggers at the ladies. Thankfully, they decide they're stretched enough and speed away with suspicious looks over their shoulders.

Seems like he's shit out of luck with keeping this on the down low for much longer.

Eventually, he digs out his phone to search for _internalized stigma_.

It's not all that helpful, because most of it seems to center around mental health issues, which for once doesn't apply to Bucky's life. However, one thing a smart phone is useful for is to not have to ask some questions out loud so Steve can hear.

To Sam: _Is there another word for internalized stigma?_

And while _internalized homophobia_ isn't really applicable either, there are more and more useful hits. Bucky educates himself on the issue, as one website recommends, while Sam and Steve idly chat about the research they did about asexuality, and whether joining a forum or attending a meet-up might be feasible for Steve. Also, Steve wants a button with the flag.

Enviable, but that's Stevie Rogers for you. Always entering the fray without one single doubt that it's the right thing to do. Bucky's depended on him to be his moral compass for decades.

It's going to take more than a couple days for Bucky to be able to wear a flag and think about meet-ups, and not only because there's little consensus on how the flag should look, but yeah. He can see that maybe he's so bent out of shape because he was trying to fit into a narrative that just doesn't work for him. It's not his fault if people assume there's only one possible way to lead a successful, happy life.

Anyhow. Once Sunday night rolls around and they're cuddling on the couch again, he says, “We can tell the others.”

“Hmm.” There's a smile in Steve's voice, but thank God, he doesn't start waxing poetic about how proud he is or other such sappy nonsense. Bucky does get a kiss to the temple for his troubles, though. Which is something he can definitely get used to.

“Team dinner tomorrow?” Steve suggests.

Tomorrow? Right. “Okay.”

  
  


At least this way, it's only one bad night where Bucky can agonize about the possible ramifications coming out will have. He tosses and turns, despite Steve trying to hold him, and eventually flees to the couch for some cartoon so at least Steve will get some rest. Obviously, Steve joins him no five minutes later and falls asleep leaning against Bucky. Beautiful, loyal idiot that he is.

  
  


They spend most of Monday that isn't team practice making a plan. What to divulge, which explanations to use - really, Steve seems ready to write prompt cards. In the end, they decide to bring the tablet with some useful page already open.

He dithers less than on Sunday, but still needs to be guided out of the elevator by Steve grabbing his hand. Only Steve doesn't let go, and the chatter of the Avenger team plus friends and significant others fighting over Thai take-out dies down when they notice.

The stares, they make Bucky's skin crawl, remind him of the bad old days when a room full of people watching him meant pain. He frees his hand.

“Hiya, guys.” Sam is obviously aware that Bucky is about to bolt. “We've ordered extra veggie Pad Thai for you, Bucky.”

Unfortunately, Bucky's not really hungry. Hasn't been since last night.

“Were you lying on Friday, Capsicle?” Tony jumps into the inevitable argument. “Quote, we like women, unquote.”

Did Steve say that? Bucky will have to ask how Steve was prompted into research.

“You can like more than one thing,” Steve says. “And in different ways. Meet my platonic life partner.”

Bucky dredges up the silly little wave he used on Sam yesterday. “Hi.”

This throws even Tony for a loop.

“Makes sense,” Clint pipes up. To him, it probably would.

“Congratulations,” Pepper adds, as if two relics from WW2 coming out as near-queer are an everyday occurrence.

Darcy squeals and then jumps into explaining the terminology to Thor and Jane. “I'm demi,” she throws as an aside to Steve, which prompts him to steer them next to her.

“Ace.”

“Cool. Ace fist bump?”

That is, apparently, a thing.

Then Steve draws out a chair for Bucky and grabs the veggie Pad Thai before anyone else can get to it. On any other day, Bucky would have protested being babied, but really, he's reconsidered. He desperately doesn't want to have this talk right now. Opening his mouth for anything would mean he'd be willing to field questions.

He picks at his noodles while Steve, Sam and Darcy have an animated discussion that thankfully outs him as aromantic and draws in everyone but Natasha. Who is watching the proceedings for her own agenda, if Bucky has kept an ounce of knowledge of her body language.

So she eats, quietly, ignoring the frequent prompting looks she gets from Clint. When Steve finally also notices and worry creases his brow, she offers a tiny, fake smile. “No wonder you were so annoyed by my meddling.”

He smiles back, still obviously concerned, and also, Bucky notes she doesn't apologize for living vicariously.

“Really. In hindsight, it would have been unfair to unleash your puppy-dog face onto the general public. James at least is a highly trained operative.”

Despite himself, Bucky snorts, and Steve rewards him with a doting look, maybe for not arguing about the name.

Tony eventually stops asking intrusive questions, probably because Pepper is stepping on his foot with a spiky heel every time he does.

But then the coming out talk derails into an analysis of TV shows and movies, and the depiction of asexual characters, and suddenly it could be any other team dinner on any other given day.

There's still a team.

A team who doesn't scorn them, doesn't question whether a relationship without sex is legitimate, doesn't make it about Bucky's sanity, and doesn't harass Cap for being unpatriotic.

Everything is right in the world for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... hope you liked this. Maybe these experiences ring true for some of you.  
> Anyhow, please remember that both asexuality and aromanticism come on a spectrum, so this Steve and this Bucky, their likes and dislikes, are by no means representative of the whole.


End file.
